Celeste

by Roland Perry

  Lionel approached the leader of the band of peasants, who removed his hat.

  ‘Do you think we could plant a tree of freedom, squire,’ the leader inquired politely. ‘We only want to have some fun and drink a toast to your health. If this offends you, we won’t do it.’

  ‘On the contrary,’ Lionel said, remaining his relaxed, unruffled self, ‘I would be honoured. But please don’t plant it in my garden. Anywhere else in the fields will be fine.’

  Céleste was proud of the affection and respect the locals had for Lionel, but was unsure how long it would last.

  Céleste’s hurried departure from Paris left her with bills to pay and Marie was sending a letter a day to remind her. She asked Lionel for 200 francs to return to Paris. After much pocket-smacking and fiddling in wallets and in drawers he declared he did not have the cash and that he would have to borrow it for her. In that embarrassing moment Céleste realised she had more money than him.

  CHAPTER 18

  Roulette or Ruin

  After she had paid her debts, Céleste had just 100 francs. She had assets, mainly in the form of jewellery that Lionel, Jean and others had given her. But she was loath to sell the pieces, especially anything from Lionel. Frisette suggested they go to the gambling halls and try their luck. Céleste was unsure at first. She was always concerned that the police would find any excuse to put her back behind bars, and the gambling halls were illegal. Nevertheless, after some persuasion she decided to take the risk and they rode a late-night carriage to a grand multistorey house in Rue de l’Arcade. The two women puffed their way up six flights of red-carpeted stairs bedecked with lanterns.

  The hostess was La Pepine, a pale-skinned, thin woman of thirty, her face framed by curly black hair, which gave her a wild look. Despite having accompanied Lionel and others on many roulette sprees, Céleste had never played the game herself, except to kiss the chips when a drunken character in her group was in search of some luck.

  The banker arrived. He was Italian and wore a black suit with a white tie. He gave sharp orders to La Pepine and soon a dozen players, mainly young men, surrounded the table, ready to play. Seeing Céleste’s hesitation, La Pepine suggested she follow the bets of an old suited gentleman, who wore war medals. She claimed he was lucky.

  Céleste took a gold Louis from her purse and placed it on red near the decorated old man’s money. She had just a few francs left.

  The banker commanded, ‘Place your bets, gentlemen! Place your bets!’

  He spun the wheel and the mesmerising pill dance began with its clip-clip sound as it bounced around. Players held back as if they could somehow sense on which of the thirty-seven numbers it would land, or on which colour, red or black. Céleste watched with far more concentration than she ever had while at Lionel’s elbow. Her money was in the game here.

  ‘No more bets!’ the banker said, and scowled as two young men flung coins down a fraction of a second after his order. The wheel slowed its spin. All eyes watched the pill stagger towards a stop.

  ‘The black loses; the red wins!’

  Céleste had won. She was about to cash in her modest win, when the decorated gentleman suggested she let them ride on the next spin. She had no wish to be called a coward by anyone at anything. She looked away as the wheel spun. Then the cry went up from the banker: ‘The red loses; the black wins!’

  Her easily gotten gains had been quickly taken from her. She placed a bet on red again, and it came up a second time in three spins. This time Céleste took her meagre profit into another room. La Pepine, whom she had judged as ‘devilish’, advised her to keep betting but to retire most of her wins each time. This was in contrast to the reckless betting at the table, and Céleste took the advice.

  After two hours she had accumulated 2000 francs in gold in a cautious but calculated lucky streak, where La Pepine’s wise counsel had worked. It was past 2 a.m. and the losers—most of the players—were showing strain and fatigue.

  Céleste, full of zest, observed that the rouge on some of the women companions had faded. The losers, who until then had ignored her, were now ‘letting their bad humour show’ as they chatted to her in the hope that her streak might rub off on them. She felt sorry for one tall young man named Bresival, who searched his pockets, placed his hand on his forehead and looked at everyone in apparent despair.

  ‘Would you like a few Louis?’ Céleste asked him in pity. He grabbed at them and lost the lot inside five minutes. Céleste was about to give him more when La Pepine brought the players chocolate. She stepped on Céleste’s foot and frowned at her disapprovingly. Bresival continued to watch Céleste, hoping for another handout, but she did not make eye contact again. Perceiving this as a snub, Bresival went berserk and had to be restrained as he attempted to destroy the roulette wheel, screaming that he’d been robbed.

  It was 4 a.m. and Céleste felt it was time to leave, but not before telling La Pepine that she would like to see her again. The devil had proved more of an angel in Céleste’s first ever attempt at roulette, where she joined the euphoric ranks of debutante winners.

  There were 4000 francs in her purse.

  The next day Céleste went around to all the merchants to whom she owed money—for jewellery, fabric, furnishings, dresses, shoes, bonnets and her carriage hire. She had ridden on credit and the minor ruse of not being at home when department stores such as Ville de Paris, Chaussée d’Antin, Trois Quartiers and Au Siège de Corinthe had delivered her purchases. This meant she would not receive the bill for another six months, though it would always come laden with high borrowing rates. It now gave her enormous pleasure to clear what she owed in one triumphant sweep around Paris. It put her in a good mood and she could not resist going on a spending spree, this time paying cash for four dresses, some undergarments and a purchase that delighted her most: a travel bag trimmed in silver.

  Her roulette success had excited Céleste and she could not wait to return to the gambling table. But her motivation was more love and largesse than greed. Céleste wanted to have a swollen bank account when Lionel returned to Paris. She was still worried about the illegal nature of the gambling. However, the eternal pull of getting rich quickly without any labour of mind or body saw her respond to the siren call of that house on Rue de l’Arcade. This was aided by La Pepine, who told her to bring only 100 francs, and if she was to lose that, to stop playing. It was advice that went against the interests of La Pepine’s employer, the banker, whom she feared and detested.

  In the real world of money shortages, the French government was allowing people more time to pay off debts, landlords were reducing rents by a third, pawn shops would not lend anything over 100 francs, and commerce was generally on the decline. The so-called reform had been limited. Workers lost jobs despite government guarantees that its newly created workshops would lift unemployment. Bread prices rose. The government was accused of corruption. In the rarefied world of the Parisian gambling houses, gold, silver and bank notes were weighing down the roulette tables, and Céleste wondered where it all came from as she took the risk a second time.

  She proceeded cautiously again, this time noting all the high rollers and how they played. She observed those that won regularly and how they managed it. She was most intrigued by one short, calm, cigar-smoking man who placed his bets in groups of ten chips at the low-number end of the table. Instead of going for the long shot of 36-to-1, he concentrated on the more discreet 6-to-1 chance. Céleste began to work the high end of the table in a similar manner. Her streak continued, though not as spectacularly as the man at the other end, who had to wrap both hands around his wins to drag them off the table. Céleste had already forsaken the fifty-fifty bet on black or red that had stood her so well on the first night. She would never be in the reckless class of those piling chips on one number, but she was beginning to believe she had some sort of magic touch. And money had never been made so easily, certainly not in her profession in such a short time. Céleste had made another 3000 francs in just
ninety minutes and had received a wink from the little man, which indicated he knew she was more or less copying his moves. His only gesture of excitement was to puff more vigorously on his cigar, and Céleste copied this low-key reaction by not jumping up and down as she had the first time. Yet her glee was noticed by an elderly woman next to her. She scoffed at Céleste, telling her she had once won 100,000 francs on a single bet. The woman boasted she’d had a carriage and magnificent diamonds.

  ‘I don’t remember experiencing as much joy as you over these few Louis,’ she commented with disdain, ‘women are really degenerating!’

  Céleste was in a good mood but not enough to accept such gratuitous and open insults.

  ‘You should keep quiet about these treasures that have not served you well!’ she retorted.

  They were interrupted by the doorbell. Play froze.

  ‘It’s the police!’ some of the gamblers cried. The banker moved swiftly.

  ‘Open!’ he ordered a servant, who pushed a button. The table, roulette wheel and all the money disappeared into a trap door in the floor. A rug was hastily placed over the trap door and a trembling La Pepine stepped to the door. The illegal enterprise was set up in her name, despite the banker owning and controlling everything. If there was a raid, she would be jailed, not the banker. She opened the door to be greeted by two slightly embarrassed young men. They had forgotten the password to be let in.

  Loud, nervous laughter followed. La Pepine needed a stiff drink. Céleste was so spooked by this false alarm that she decided to leave with her cash and never return.

  CHAPTER 19

  The Riot that Ate Paris

  Lionel returned from the country in mid-June 1848 as the Second Republic government’s control broke down after it decided to close the workshops that it had been setting up since February. The idea of work for all was a good one and had been applauded nationally at first. But like many innovative concepts, it proved difficult to implement. The jobs were often low paid and dead-end, and the workers began to revolt. The workshops did not have enough funding. The money for them was supposed to come from taxing landowners, who refused to pay or, as in Lionel’s case, could not pay. He was receiving no rent from his farms.

  Lionel once again joined the National Guard, now more than 40,000 strong. The worker insurgents numbered 60,000 and, to swell their ranks, went from house to house recruiting more for their cause. But their tactics were counterproductive as they threatened to kill those who would not fight with them. They put up barricades and rioted throughout Paris. The grand City of Light went out as all the theatres and entertainment places such as the Hippodrome were shut down. Labourers descended from everywhere and Paris became an armed camp.

  The insurrection began in earnest on 23 June 1848 with clashes between the National Guard, led by the ruthless General Louis Cavaignac, and the insurgents, who raided city armouries in desperation as their ammunition ran low.

  Céleste’s neighbourhood was quiet, mainly because the boulevards were too wide to put up barricades, but she began to hear alarming stories about other parts of Paris, including Le Marais, where her mother lived on Rue Saint-Louis, on the Right Bank of the Seine. The area was hit hard by the rioters. Houses were being attacked and burned down.

  Céleste had lost touch with Anne-Victoire. She decided to risk entering Le Marais to find her, but she needed a special police pass to do so. Céleste, with trusty Marie, who insisted on going with her, had difficulty reaching the local police commissioner. They were blocked at several streets. Céleste pleaded with the police en route, and was finally allowed to see him.

  To her delight and relief she found that the commissioner was a fan who had seen her perform at the Hippodrome many times. He tried to dissuade her from going, pointing out that hundreds of people, including many innocent bystanders, had been killed or injured. Céleste remained polite but firm. She wanted to rescue her mother.

  Other officers urged the commissioner to let her have the pass.

  ‘You know she’s brave,’ one of them said. ‘Let her have it.’

  The commissioner agreed reluctantly and told her to be careful. He suggested she take a circuitous route along the less-known and uncrowded streets to the Right Bank.

  When they finally reached Le Marais and Rue Saint-Louis, Céleste could just make out her mother’s house, but to reach it, they had to climb over a tall barricade, which would be an act of supreme courage. Onlookers shouted that people had been shot attempting this. Climbers were obvious targets for both the police and rioters. Céleste asked Marie to stay behind, but she was giving new meaning to the term ‘maid of honour’.

  Both women said a prayer, crossed themselves and bravely clambered up and over the barricade stretching across the street.1 They held their breaths as they landed on the other side. No shots seemed directed at them. Then they ducked for cover as rioters came charging down the street towards them with police firing in pursuit. The rioters just managed to slip into a house, apparently unscathed.

  Céleste and Marie scurried along to Anne-Victoire’s building.

  They were shocked to see it was partially demolished. There were police and others milling about the entrance foyer. Two women were weeping. Céleste soon learned the building’s concierge had been shot dead the night before while trying to stop the rioters from forcing their way in.

  Distressed, Céleste asked, ‘Where is my mother . . .?’

  She was interrupted by a male voice behind her. It was Vincent.

  ‘Céleste!’ he said. ‘Your mother’s fine, thank God! She’s upstairs. Go up and see her.’

  Céleste was a whirl of conflicting emotions. Her mother was not harmed. That lifted her. Seeing Vincent brought back a rush of negative feelings. Until there was some justice or retribution for his behaviour, she would never forgive and forget.

  She hesitated, torn between comforting her mother and being in the presence of a man she wished dead. After a few seconds, she turned on her heel, Marie close behind her.

  ‘You’re not going upstairs?’ Vincent asked.

  ‘No,’ Céleste replied, ‘I’ve found out what I wanted to know.’

  Lionel had arrived from the country.

  ‘Céleste, darling,’ he cried when she opened the front door. ‘I missed you so! I worried about you.’

  His concern cheered her. She now considered Lionel to be everything in her world, her father, brother, best friend and lover. Despite the blow-ups and recriminations, he was the person she knew best, who made her laugh more than cry and, despite everything, the one she trusted. Although Lionel was fickle at times, Céleste had faith in him. He had misled her rather than lie to protect her feelings as he sought the right social and financial partner. She believed in his basic integrity and compassion.

  The riots had drawn people together as the death and injury tolls mounted. Seeing Vincent still with her mother, Céleste felt estranged from the only family she had. That left her Lionel, the one person to whom she gravitated and would be lost without amid the current danger. She would give him her last franc if he needed it.

  ‘I want you to have the rest of my roulette earnings,’ she said.

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of taking them,’ he said with a mock frown. ‘You, the girl who was so bored by the game, the game that you detested so much, when you watched me play . . .’

  ‘Lose!’

  ‘Yes, you win again. I’m a gambler and loser. But you must show me how you did so well.’

  ‘Never! It would set you on the path of self-destruction again.’

  ‘But how I need the money now,’ he said with a shudder. ‘I’m in Paris to secure a loan via my business manager. I think it just may tide me over at the estate. Or at least until the crisis subsides and the economy improves.’

  Lionel failed to secure the loan. He was depressed and had to return to his estate. He asked her to join him, this time for a prolonged period while he tried to make the estate profitable.

  ‘I love yo
u very much,’ he told her, ‘but I’m not rich enough to keep you in Paris.’

  His next utterances were about him not having enough furniture in the castle, and how ‘one day when we’re separate and I get married, I shall pay you what I owe you’. But these words were superfluous.

  He had stated his love for her and he wanted her to live with him. For someone with her determination, tactical skills and passion, it was the moment of infinite possibility. She was well aware of his state of mind and ongoing confusion. Lionel was asking her to live with him and yet saw the relationship ending. The pragmatic issues—his status, privileges and money—were still placed above his heart and emotions. But Céleste knew the true makeup of the man. She had experienced his passion for roulette, his estate, hunting and her, and felt certain that his heart would rule his head if he were given the right encouragement, environment and circumstances.

  Céleste again did not think twice about the offer. Four hours later she had asked her landlord to rent out her apartment and her bags were packed. Yet she took the precaution of securing a Paris pied-à-terre at 42 Rue de Londres. It would serve as a fallback if things did not work out. She also persuaded Lionel to accept 500 francs in gold coin, which was what remained of her roulette windfalls. He took them and then in a typically whimsical, romantic and profligate manner, he bought her a piece of jewellery worth 3000 francs. His name may not have been good enough to gain a loan, but it was still good with jewellers for the hire-purchase of an expensive luxury item. Céleste had a mixed reaction to this extravagance. She loved the gesture, yet at this moment it offended her that he should waste the money she had given him. Instead of reproaching him, she acted pleased and so avoided spoiling his joy at the act of giving.

  The rebellion continued for five days until 28 June, and by the time Céleste and Lionel left Paris two days afterwards, reports were coming in of 10,000 dead and injured in the riots. A further 4000 insurgents were to be deported to Algeria. The city’s recovery from the upheaval would be slow. Céleste knew that for a while she would not be missing much in Paris’s alluring night-life. She also now believed the biggest challenge of her life was less a dream than a strong possibility. The downtrodden teenage girl from the working class was now a woman of twenty-three who might just become a countess.